


Please

by AJfanfic



Series: Crowley has Chronic Pain [4]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Chronic Pain, Crowley Has Chronic Pain (Good Omens), Cuddling, Disabled Character, Disabled Crowley (Good Omens), Disabled!Crowley, Dissociation, Gen, M/M, Pain Flare, Pre-Relationship, Supportive Aziraphale (Good Omens), author has chronic pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-07-29 15:07:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20084212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AJfanfic/pseuds/AJfanfic
Summary: Crowley has a sudden pain flare and finds himself unable to move until it passes.





	Please

**Author's Note:**

> The title was "Why, Please?" but I felt like it wasn't a good fit for the work. It was from a song called "The Old Me" by Elizabeth Joy, which is an incredibly amazing song about pain and made me cry.

Crowley woke shivering. He’d turned down the heat for Aziraphale to come over the day before, and must have forgotten to turn it back up after he’d had to cancel. He took a moment to take stock of his body. Knee achy, but better than he’d hoped. Spine twisted, but no more than usual. He felt good, for him. Crowley had become accustomed to the constant ache of his body around the time that humanity started wearing clothing made of something more substantial than what they’d left Eden in. His spine cracked as he stood, vertebrae shifting into place. He stretched, rolling out his shoulders and testing his mobility. Nothing shouted at him, nothing so much as sent him a metaphorical dirty look. _ More hot baths, I guess. _

The kettle was bubbling on the stove because he expected it to be. Crowley wasn’t nearly as particular about his morning tea as Aziraphale was, usually going without and always drinking it black. His stomach didn’t seem to appreciate dairy. Today, his only demand of it was that it be as hot as possible. Sunlight gleamed off black tiles and pooled on the floor around his plants. The walls looked like they were covered by a thin sheet of ice. Crowley knew, logically, it was a perfectly tolerable 17 degrees, according to anyone else. But it _felt _like ice ought to be forming, being about ten degrees short of his comfort zone as it was.

Tea in one hand and pilfered black duvet in the other, Crowley headed for a patch of warm looking ground. Most of his serpentine features were inconvenient at best and outright painful at worst. Basking was the only nice one that came to mind. There was nothing quite like curling up in a bit of hot sun. It was as close to meditation a demon could get. It had been quite a while since he’d done it in human form. His hips hadn’t liked the idea of him lying on the ground for that long, and he hadn’t wanted to push it. But he felt good today and it was so cold and the sun looked so nice. Crowley stretched out on his stomach and let his mind drift.

* * *

Crowley shifted his hips to find a more comfortable angle. His head felt comfortably fuzzy but his leg had started to go numb. Crowley didn’t manage so much as a twitch, his breath leaving him in a rush. Sometime during his nap, someone had clearly broken into his apartment and replaced his spine with a lead pipe. He took a few slow, shallow breaths. He tried again. Something had probably just shifted and he could power through it and it would all be fine. His scream shocked him nearly as much as the sudden flair of molten pain. He’d moved even less than before. A small irrational part of his mind flailed about, trying to figure out what trauma had snapped his spine because it was obviously broken, because things didn’t just hurt like this for no reason. Maybe he wasn’t as accepting of everything as he’d thought.

Crowley picked a different angle. He tried to push himself up onto his elbows. He tried holding his shoulders and hips aligned while he rolled over. He wanted to curl up into himself. He wanted a heating pad. He wanted Aziraphale. He wanted the pain to stop. He just wanted to be able to _move_. Tears burned and he didn’t dare try to wipe them away. Crowley lay perfectly still and tried to ignore the whimpering his breath had become. It would pass. It always does, going with as much discernable reason as it comes on.

The worst part was that it didn’t hurt until he moved. So he had to move to know it if was okay to, but if it wasn’t then he’d have moved and there would be new pain and new tears and new shame at his utter helplessness. 

“Okay.” It would barely count as a whisper, but talking made him feel little more in control. “Okay, what if we don’t stand all the way up? Just to kneeling, promise.”

It was like a double cast hostage exchange, with Crowley bound and gaged inside, and Crowley sitting outside holding the phone, pleading with Someone that he’d be able to convince his body to set him free. He managed enough movement this time to make his intention clear. Get his legs in sort of the right position to push himself up onto his knees. Didn’t manage anything more. Crowley blessed with a shaky voice and tried to relax every muscle in his back.

“No? Okay, we can wait a bit. I can’t be late for dinner though, gotta make that.” Crowley waited longer than a bit. He tried to get back to the place he’d been before he’d moved. It didn’t hurt just lying there, but the tension wouldn’t leave him. Fear that he’d say the wrong thing and get the hostage killed. It sounded so stupid, to fear his own body when there wasn’t _really _anything wrong. It would have to stay between him and G-d. Crowley wished that Aziraphale hadn’t fallen asleep. He couldn’t bring it up, now, it was far too late. Aziraphale had certainly forgotten it. Crowley wished he could. He wished that Aziraphale would say it again and he decided to stop thinking about Aziraphale before he looped back to wishing he was there. _ Wasn’t like he’d be able to do much. _

“Can we try again? Just one leg, just move one leg.” It hurt. He managed. “Okay, one more.” He was shaking. He was kneeling, prostrate. For a hysterical moment, Crowley was tempted to thank G-d. He didn’t, he was in enough pain without the burn of Holiness on his tongue.

Crowley slid his arms along the floor, bringing his hands near his face. He pushed himself up. “Fuck.”

He stayed there for a moment on all fours, feeling the hard press of the cement against his sore knee. It was almost grounding. Slowly, slowly, he sat up. Arms out for balance, hips more consciously even than they’d been in years, he stood. Crowley was so fucking proud of himself.

A miracle left him winded, but the walk to grab the cane he’d left in the bedroom would have been worse. That one didn’t have an arm brace like this one did anyway. Crowley made his way to his kitchen and draped himself over the bar, arms braced to hold the weight off his back while keeping him upright.

“Guess we’re not going to dinner, huh.” He wasn’t late yet, but he couldn’t. He just couldn’t.

* * *

Aziraphale didn’t take no for an answer this time. Thirty minutes later, he was standing on Crowley’s doorstep, hand poised to knock at the unlocked door as it swung open for him. It would always open for him. He found Crowley standing in the same spot, his limbs arranged in a casual sprawl. Aziraphale saw through him, saw the lines around his eyes and the tightness in his jaw and wanted to press his fingers into the knots he can see in the line of his shoulders.

“Hey, angel. Sorry about dinner.”  
“It’s alright my dear, Oka Robata will still be there when you’re feeling better.”  
Crowley raised his eyebrows. “You know you can go without me, right? I promise my feelings won’t be hurt,” He drawled  
“But I don’t want to to go to sushi,” Aziraphale frowned, “I want to go to sushi with you. I’m just as happy to have take away here. Besides, I’ve already ordered and I’d hate for it all to go to waste. I know you won’t eat it.”

“Whatever you want, angel.” Crowley didn’t ask if he was serious or just being kind. He didn’t think he could handle either answer.

* * *

They waited. Crowley was quiet and Crowley was still and Aziraphale spun the ring on his finger. Their food came. Aziraphale bypassed the dining room and arranged it on the bar across from him. He wasn’t sure Crowley notice the food at all. He blank gaze stared straight through him. Aziraphale ate in silence. It didn’t seem like his companion was in the mood for their usual banter.

“My dear boy, would you like to watch some television? I’m we could find reruns of that show you like.”  
“No,” Crowley said, harsher than he’d intended.

“Would you like me to read, instead? I’m sure the couch is more comfortable.” _ For you, at least. _

“No.”  
“Why not?” Honestly, he was becoming rather frightened for his friend. He’d been bad before. They’d spend nights curled in front of the TV, afternoons when Crowley sprawled in one spot on the couch and didn’t move until Aziraphale had read him a book cover to cover. He liked poetry, either older or newer than Aziraphale usually preferred. He’d happily read to him for hours if it helped. He’d been bad before but not like this.

Crowley blinked slowly. “It’ll hurt.” An edge of fear crept into his voice. “I won’t be able to get up again.”

_Oh. Oh, that had to have been terrifying._ “Do you want me to-”  
“_Please.”_

Aziraphale slid around the counter to stand behind Crowley. He traced gentle fingers along the length of his protruding spine and felt his shallow, shuddering breath. He poured grace into the caress. Aziraphale pressed his palms to Crowley’s back. His fingers wrapped around the sides of his ribcage. Tension unwound, Crowley’s breathing deepened. Aziraphale gave him as much as he dared, until he felt his skin warm beneath his hands. He left his hands resting on the slight curve of his waist, unsure who he was reassuring. The pain was still there, still staining Crowley’s aura and face. But he turned around to face him, which was more than Aziraphale had seen him move in the past hour.

“Thank you.” Crowley leaned into the circle of his arms, hesitantly bringing his own up to wrap around the angel in return. He let Aziraphale draw him closer and rested his head on his shoulder.

“Of course, my dear. I’m sorry I can’t do more.”  
“You do plenty.” Crowley glanced up at him. “But..you could read to me?”  
“Think you can brave the couch?”  
“Think so. Hang on.” Crowley let him go somewhat grudgingly and grabbed his cane.

Aziraphale shifted to his other side, matching his snail’s pace across the room. He settled in on one end of the couch and waited for Crowley to decide how to sit.

He stretched out, his head just shy of resting on Aziraphale’s leg. “Is this okay?” He wouldn’t have asked, but the couch was only so long, and the idea of curling himself up at all sounded completely horrid.

“Perfectly. Are you comfortable?”

Crowley considered it. He shifted slightly, grimacing as he did. Aziraphale snapped and a pillow appeared just above his hips. “Now I am. Thanks.”

Aziraphale read and Crowley slowly returned to himself, and if Aziraphale’s fingers found their way into Crowley’s hair, well, who was to know?

**Author's Note:**

> I'd said in one of my previous notes that while Crowley's pain was based on my own, it's mostly drawn from memories of before I'd learned to manage it better, and that I've been consistently somewhere between pain-free and low pain for the past year or so.  
This piece is different! Crowley's pain here is was mine about a week ago. I'd gone for a hike, and felt totally fine the entire time, which I was honestly shocked and pleased by. When I got to the top of the hike, I lay down on rock in the middle of this lovely waterfall to read, and found I couldn't move when I had to get up for dinner.  
I wanted to share the more personal background of this piece since a lot of you have been commenting about how much you've learned from this series or how much of your own experience you see in it.  
Nothing is straightforward, and there will always be good days and bad days. I hope we all someday find our Aziraphale to help us up when we need a hand.
> 
> As always, come talk to me on [tumblr](https://not-a-fucking-pogo-stick.tumblr.com/), about any and all of it.


End file.
